


That Man, Henry Jekyll.

by orphan_account



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious, Red String of Fate, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 'And this had been when the twine had appeared on his finger, eminently vermilion, seeming to wisp away into simple nothing an inch from his palm, twisting in some unknown breeze that he, try as he might, could not feel.'





	That Man, Henry Jekyll.

**Author's Note:**

> Things to know:
> 
> 1) All italicized paragraphs are outsourced. Aka they were written by other sources that are not me. The first set is an extract from the novella 'The strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,' the second is from an article on the red string of fate.
> 
> 2) I do not normally write like this, and it was quite the challenge. This was me attempting to copy Stevenson's writing style. I'm sorry if it is unbearable to read, lol.

_'Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove._

_"I incline to Cain’s heresy,” he used to say. “I let my brother go to the devil in his quaintly own way.” In his character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of down-going men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.'_

_'No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the lawyer’s way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object.'_

Mr. Utterson kept friends of such differing nature to one another, many apon which he would lay down his life to maintain this inaudible yet silently acknowledged camaraderie, and despite this the chance had never offered itself, neither would he dare seek it. To prove his union to those he held close, there was not a question to his faith and strength of character to fulfill any task of this merit, albeit with a trepidatious air that hung despite seeming contradictory word and action.

At the time of being a man of 30, it had been the period he had first spoken to the esteem of Dr. Henry Jekyll, titled in sincerest privacy as 'Harry' by his friends in a great affection, as he had a strange magnetism about him that drew those to wish to deepen bonds and strengthen many a tie. And yet in the broad field of his work there came a great consensus of disrespect, too, and although Mr. Utterson could understand, he still gave a little 'tut'.

Years soldiered on, and as Dr. Jekyll aspired past his position as another sawbones, delving somewhat inappropriately into more spiritual affairs of the mind and soul, Mr. Utterson remained a quaint man, and in eventuality bonded strongly with men such as Mr. Richard Enfield, a distant kinsman of his, and Dr. Lanyon, whom participated in slightly less sordid affairs than his friend Dr. Jekyll. Utterson had to confess with heavy heart that despite their selfsame choice of profession, an air of malaise hung between those two. Lanyon had always dissaproved of Jekyll's research, as did many.

Despite all, Mr. Utterson and Dr. Jekyll remained particularly close. Jekyll had always been so affable, after all. It was difficult to stay away.

And yet, as of late an air of secrecy had hung heavy over this gentleman, inpermeable and opaque. His proficiency for congeniality had slipped him, and the doctor's handsome, pale face was often drawn taut, thin lipped and red-eyed behind annular spectacles, knuckles pressed on a pen or otherwise instrument of scientific research, digging nails into a clammed brow.

Caustic when provoked, the doctor, whilst still welcoming in most demeanor, had a lilt of the preternatural in his everyday speech, voice trailed-off and distant, red wine tapering towards evenings, hidden bottles of scotch and vials of a mauve substance spilling onto hardwood floor. 

And the harder Utterson had pushed himself to rekindle their prior bond, the further Jekyll seemed to insist with his self-ostracisation. To the lawyer, this could often result in pain flooding his abdomen as if struck by a blade, pinpricks at the corners of his sclera, something aching in a facet of his heart he had yet to discover.

And this had been when the twine had appeared on his finger, eminently vermilion, seeming to wisp away into simple nothing an inch from his palm, twisting in some unknown breeze that he, try as he might, could not feel.

And, in the few spaces he got to see his dear friend again, and his chest was set ablaze in the flame of repudiation of his offers to take the doctor out - simply to stroll the streets - he could notice a rather alike strand of blood-crimson thread twisting the gentleman's little finger, though he seemed unawares.

In a book, hidden beneath piles of dust and long-neglected papers, he found the answer to this.

_'...An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, and circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle. But it will never break...'_

_'...Knowing that we have been created in a pair, we go around our lives searching for the one who is our destiny. Every time we fall in love, we feel this is it, this is the one, and that we have found the other half...'_

_'...This person is our soul connection, and we gamble our hearts to find him or her. Many times we break our hearts in our search for the right one, but when we find them, it is all worth it...'_

He dropped the book. The pages fluttered as it closed by itself. There was a moment of silence, of blissful incomprehension, before it fell apon him as if heaven itself was crushed beneath the weight of such a revelation.

"Oh, dear."


End file.
